It was front page news in West Hele­na, Arkansas, “The Great Lev­on Helm Forms a New Group.”
The old news­pa­per arti­cle announc­ing the 1990s event hung like a tro­phy on the wall at Gist Music.
“It’s the Barn Burn­ers” pro­claimed Chris as he turned to the old man stand­ing behind the long counter. “Can, I take this down? I was in this band with Lev­on. I played with him. Can I take this down?” He repeated.
“What?” said the old man hold­ing his hand to his ear and lean­ing slight­ly forward
Begrudg­ing­ly Chris unglued him­self from his spot and walked the dis­tance to the counter built cir­ca 1949.
Helm is to West Hele­na, Arkansas, a town that sits a tobac­co-chewed spit throw away from the Mis­sis­sip­pi, what Elvis is to Memphis.
And it is also host to the annu­al King Bis­cuit Blues Fes­ti­val. Once a year, West Hele­na aligns its main thor­ough­fare with ven­dors sell­ing bat-sized corn dogs, alli­ga­tor morsels and BBQ while thou­sands of blues fans aim­less­ly stroll the street as if mes­mer­ized by the sus­pend­ed cloud of smoke belch­ing from the tanker-sized smokers.
Chris reached the counter talk­ing with the speed typ­i­cal of a New York teenage girl. Morse Gist leaned clos­er in an effort to catch Chris’ words. When Chris’ del­uge came to an abrupt end. Gist’s shoul­ders soft­ened as he set his eyes on Chris.
“He was a good man and the world is a less­er place now that he is gone,” said Gist final­ly under­stand­ing the con­nec­tion between Lev­on and this fast-talk­ing Northerner.
Andy and I took a step back to allow Chris and Gist a moment to talk about their mutu­al friend.
“Yes, that is true and you can’t say that tru­ly about many peo­ple,” answered Chris.
Chris hung his head low. The air in the store stood still and now both men stood silent for a moment. Slow­ly Chris lift­ed his head and filled his chest with air.
“I miss him.”